SKANIGO LAKE
A little more than a mile from the outermost homes of Ogleport, in a
direct line, lay Skanigo Lake.
A beautiful sparkling sheet of water was Skanigo, and it always mixed
itself up, somehow, with Puff Evans’s ideas of Paradise; but the Rev.
Dr. Solomon Dryer could never forget his great attempt, one December
“examination day,” to obtain a physical description of it from Zebedee
Fuller.
Not, however, because his questions were not fully and accurately
answered, somewhat as follows:
“Of what shape is Skanigo Lake, Master Fuller?”
“Round, sir.”
“Round?”
“Yes, sir; ’round among the hills, ’way up, as far as it can go.”
“Ah, yes. You do not altogether comprehend my interrogatory. But what
profundity does it attain? How deep is it?”
“Varies very much, sir.”
“Exactly. An admirable response. But when is it deepest?”
“In July, sir.”
“July?”
“Yes, sir. No depth at all in winter. Bottom freezes hard and gets on
top, sir.”
“We will put you in natural philosophy, next term, Master Fuller. But
what are the longitudinal and lateral extent--the width and length, I
mean, of Skanigo?”
“Has none, sir.”
“No length or width?”
“No, sir. Puff Evans told me he’d caught everything there was in that
lake. All his fault, sir.”
The Baptist and Presbyterian ministers came to Dr. Dryer’s assistance
at that point, for they were both good fishermen, and Zebedee escaped
from the remaining geography of Skanigo.
In that brief ten minutes, however, he had won the lasting good-will
of Euphemia Dryer and the settled enmity of her stepmother.
On the morning after the bell and heifer mystery, no sooner was
breakfast over than Bar and Val gathered together their fishing-gear,
and were off to make acquaintance with Skanigo for themselves.
The walk was nothing at all, nor was it difficult to find the way to
the curiously constructed dwelling of Puff Evans. The land thereabout
was the supposed heritage of a non-resident family of “minor heirs,”
and Puff had settled himself in a little cove with no more trouble of
mind about his lack of title than a wild Indian or a Western “squatter.”
He did no manner of harm. In fact, he had actually “improved” a few
acres, managing to have, as Zeb Fuller said: “The kindest-hearted,
best-natured crops in the world; the only potatoes ever heard of that
did their own hoeing.”
Between his scanty but “good-natured” acres and the liberal bosom of
Skanigo, however, Puff succeeded in providing for the natural wants of
himself, his very congenial wife, and a swarm of little Puffs, whose
only need of clothing, as remarked by Zebedee, was to conceal their
fins and scales.
“Pity Puff drinks,” said Zeb to Gershom Todderley one day. “Sometime
he’ll make a mistake and bring in those young ones of his, all cleaned,
on a string with his other fish. And there won’t one of ’em suspect but
what it’s all right. Good pan-fish they’d make, too.”
Bar and Val found Puff down by the waterside, proudly contemplating the
very neat proportions and finish of his favorite property.
“It’d ha’ just broke my heart to ha’ lost that there boat,” he said,
after exchanging a very enthusiastic greeting with his young visitors.
“And now I’d a liked to ha’ gone off with ye, but I’ve made up my mind
on somethin’ else for to-day, an’ I don’t see how I kin change it.”
“Don’t change it on our account,” said Bar. “Just tell us where to go,
and we’ll take care of ourselves.”
It would have taken the boys a good month to have followed all the
directions that Puff gave them, for he hardly stopped talking until
they were out of ear-shot. Even then he stood knee-deep in the water by
the shore, gazing fondly after the graceful little vessel, as if he
half deemed it a breach of faith that he was not on board of her.
“Which way’d we better go, Val?” asked Bar.
“Right up the lake, not far out,” said Val. “Then we can drop anchor
and fish for perch while you walk into your Latin.”
“All right,” said Bar.
And all right it was, for the rowing was good fun of itself, and it
seemed as if there were new things worth looking at to be seen with
every fresh pull at the oars.
“This’ll do,” said Val, at last. “Puff’s put rope enough on this
grapnel to anchor anywhere in the lake. He’s fond of deep-water
fishing. Pulls up right big ones, sometimes--bass, pickerel, and now
and then a lake trout. He says the fish are changing. Somebody put
thousands and thousands of young ones in a few years ago.”
“Rope? I should say he had,” remarked Bar. “Did I tell you Mr. Brayton
took the bell-rope over to the Doctor’s house?”
“Did he?” said Val. “Wonder if he’s any idea who did all that, or how
it was done.”
“I have now,” said Bar. “That heifer came in through one of the
basement doors.”
“Of course,” said Val; “but they were all barred on the inside.”
“And opened from the inside to let her in. Then it was easy to close
’em all up behind her, fix her horns in the bell-rope and get away.”
“But how did they get in or out?”
“I’ll show you that, too, when we set our own trap for the bell,” said
Bar. “I found out when Mr. Brayton and I were going up into the belfry.
The rest of them haven’t guessed it, unless Mr. Brayton himself has. If
he did, he forgot to tell me.”
“Our trap?” asked Val. “Are we going to set one?”
“Why, Val,” said Bar, “didn’t you hear all they had to say yesterday,
about our house being haunted?”
“Yes, and Mrs. Wood didn’t seem to more’n half like it.”
“Well, we can’t help that, you know, but I move we send all the ghosts
over into the belfry.”
“Can you do it?” asked Val, with a look of admiring faith at his
wonderful companion.
“Yes,” said Bar. “We must take home with us that extra length of
anchor-rope. It’s small and strong. Just the thing. Then we must get
some bits of wood and a yard or two of canvas, and we can do it.”
“Puff Evans has a regular workshop down by his house,” said Val. “He’s
a kind of a genius in his way, if he only knew what work meant.”
“Let’s fish, then,” exclaimed Bar, “and I’ll study hard. We shan’t have
an hour to spare.”
It was a curious piece of business, that Latin grammar, lying flat on
the seat in front of Bar Vernon, as he sat in the stern of the boat,
with his quick eyes glancing from that to the float of his fish-line.
Nevertheless, the pages were turned pretty fast, from time to time,
and every now and then a perch or a sunfish would come flopping in
over the side of the boat and be promptly transferred to Puff Evans’s
well-contrived “fish-car,” just aft of the centre-board. Val, too,
sitting at the prow, was getting very fair luck, only that he would
lose some of his best bites in watching Bar and wondering what might
be the nature of the trap that he was planning for the benefit of the
ghosts and the Academy bell.
“Do you understand what you’re reading?” he asked, at length.
“Of course not,” replied Bar. “It’s all I can do to remember it. Mr.
Brayton doesn’t expect me to understand it at one reading. He told me
so.”
“I don’t suppose he expects you to remember it, either,” said Val.
“It’s a good deal more than I could do.”
“Don’t know about that,” replied Bar. “Once I understand a thing I’m
sure to forget it. Never can repeat it in the same words again.”
It was not very clear to Val’s comprehension, even then, but Bar worked
and fished away till there came a long interval during which neither of
them had so much as a nibble.
“Sun’s getting too high,” said Val. “That’s what Puff told us. No use
to fish any more; we’ve a tip-top string, anyhow.”
“Let’s pull back, then,” said Bar. “I’ve got in all the Latin I can
hold, for once. Perhaps we can get Puff to help us.”
“If he only knows it isn’t real work,” said Val. “Tell him it’s play
and he’ll work his head off.”
The trouble with Puff Evans must have been that he had grown up to be
the father of a family without in any manner ceasing to be a boy. There
are a good many grown-up people in the same condition, and some of them
were not very remarkable boys, either.
On their arrival at the landing, the two friends found Puff waiting for
them. He had discerned the return of his treasure at a greater distance
than any other man could have made her out, and now he expressed
his entire approval of the morning’s catch, except that he mildly
deprecated the absence of anything like big fish.
“P’r’aps they’ll bite better for you when they come to know you,” he
said encouragingly. “They’re a little strange to your way of fishing
yet. Are ye goin’ right back to th’ village?”
“No,” said Bar; “we’ve some fun on hand we want to talk to you about.”
Puff was all ears in a moment, and the result of Bar’s explanation was
that the boys were taken over to the workshop at once, while Mrs. Evans
began with intense zeal to broil some fresh fish for their noonday meal.
It speedily came out that Puff had indeed a sound reason for denying
himself that day’s sport on the water. The experience of the previous
day and the suggestions of Pat Murphy that morning had borne quick
fruit in the shape of a commencement on another boat.
“I’ve named the old one _Mary_,” he said, “arter my wife, and I reckon
you may name this one.”
“When it’s built,” said Bar. “But it’s a wonder you never thought of it
before. You can make money at it.”
“P’r’aps,” said Puff, drily, “but I’d no idea I’d inj’ye it so much
as I hev. Might ha’ known it, too. I was jest as happy a-buildin’ the
_Mary_. When a man finds a piece of real work in which he can be just
happy, that’s the kind of thing God meant him for most likely, and he’d
better go ahead and do it, if he can do it honestly.”
But Bar and Val were too full of their own ideas to linger very long in
looking at Puff’s boat, and Bar found his ideas caught up and put into
shape with a readiness of perception and a swiftness of execution which
altogether surprised him.
“You’ll make a perfect job of it,” said Bar. “What do you think it will
be worth?”
“Worth?” inquired Puff.
“Yes,” said Bar. “What are we to pay you for it?”
“Why,” replied Puff, with a darkening brow, “didn’t you tell me it was
a big joke on Ogleport?”
“Yes,” began Bar.
“And ain’t I to hev any sheer o’ the fun?” asked Puff. “Besides, I’m
on hand for anything you two fellers are up to. I owe ye all the good
turns in the world. Jest don’t you say anythin’ more about pay, or
you’ll spile it all.”
“We won’t, then,” said Bar, for it was easy to see that Puff was
beginning to feel hurt; and at that moment Mrs. Evans appeared at the
door of the shop to tell them dinner was ready.
So were the boys, for fishing and rowing on Skanigo were fine things
for young appetites, and before that meal was over, it became clear
that some more fish would have to be caught if they meant to carry
anything like a respectable string home with them. They did that,
however, and they carried something else more than halfway.